Haunted Life
Part 2
by: Tigress Pern
Archive: GW Addiction (thanks Tyr!)
Warnings: Alternate Universe
Disclaimer: I don't own GW.
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Part Two

"I should have Saturday and Sunday off." Catherine
said over the phone. She'd called from work saying
she would be home late. They were swamped and needed
the extra help. "We can do some real cleaning and
organization then."
"Hai, ane-san."
"Listen, I'm sorry I won't be home until at least
nine. It wasn't my idea. Une went home sick."
"I understand."
"Trowa…"
"I'll save dinner for you." He was about to say
more, but he could hear Catherine's manager
instructing her that they had customers that needed
attending. "Good night."
"Trowa." But he hung up before she could say any
more. He leaned against the wall next to where the
phone hung and tried to keep himself together. This
was the second night in a row she'd worked late. Last
night she'd covered for Noin, tonight she was covering
for Une. It seemed everyone wanted Catherine's time,
which meant there was no time for him. He was last on
the list, again. Everyone had places they had to be.
Quatre had his music lessons, Wufei had Meiran,
Catherine had her job, but Trowa, all Trowa had was
the house.
Sighing deeply, as he was prone to do now, he slid
down the wall and sat on the floor. The phone's cord
dangled and he batted it absentmindedly. He missed
his parents terribly. Even when she was sick, his
mother had always had time to hold him and make him
feel better. His father would take him on walks or
they'd just sit and talk. Their deaths hung heavy in
his memory, weighing him down with the loss and
turmoil that had followed. I just want someone to
talk to, that's all God. Isn't there something you
can do?
Pulling his knees up to his chest, Trowa leaned
forward and buried his head in his arms. He felt
small and scared. Not knowing how to make that
feeling go away, he rocked back and forth praying that
if God was merciful, then it would send someone to his
rescue. A phone call, a door bell buzz, even a
cockroach scurrying across the floor, anything to pull
him out of the pit of despair.
A floorboard creaked. Trowa was too wrapped up in
himself to notice. A second creak sounded in front of
him. The room grew cold and a light breeze blew past
Trowa's face. His heart stopped dead. All the hair
on the back of his neck prickled like they were
porcupine quills. Slowly, Trowa lifted his head, so
that only his eyes peeked above his fold arms. A
shadow moved. Trowa scrambled to his feet only to
find nothing was there. The kitchen was completely
empty.
"Okay, Trowa. Get a grip on yourself." He whispered
reassuringly. "It's just your imagination." Trowa
saw a flicker out of the corner of his eye. Spinning
wildly, his gaze fell upon the table. On it was a
familiar silver book. All the color drained from
Trowa's face. He ran out of the kitchen and stampeded
into his room, slamming the door behind him.
"God, the house IS haunted."

* * *

Trowa cursed under his breath. It wasn't fair.
Catherine was supposed to have the day off so she and
he could get finish unpacking. Why had that boss of
hers called her in? Frustrated and angered at the
lack of progress he and his sister were making on the
house, he nearly hurled a box of breakable ornamental
figurines across the room. It was Saturday, their
day, he and Catherine's. It was a day to catch up and
talk, but it was ruined by work. He understood that
they needed to steady income. If they didn't have it,
then their parent's money would be gone in a flash.
They were trying to keep as much of it as possible for
the restoration and conversion of the house.
Catherine's income paid for the electricity, water,
and phone. Not to mention the day to day stuff.
Carefully unwrapping his mother's circus figurines,
he placed them in the glass hutch. It had been their
grandmother's. When she had died, she'd left it to
their mother and their mother had in turn left it to
them. It was more Catherine's than his, but as Trowa
unwrapped a small clown figurine, he remembered that
he had contributed to the collection. Holding the
clown up to the light, he stared at its face. It had
brown hair like his and green eyes. At least he
assumed both eyes were green, for he could only see
one. Half of the clown's face was covered by a mask
and a sweeping of bangs. Placing it in between the
lion and the knife thrower, he smiled sadly at all the
memories the figurines brought up.
As he began unwrapping the ringmaster, Trowa heard
something. It sounded like footsteps on the
staircase. He listened to the steady creaking as if
someone was walking down the stairs. Shaken, he rose
and walked out of the room and came face to face with
the landing of the large staircase that dominated the
center of the house. The creaking had stopped, but
Trowa saw no one.
"Calm yourself Trowa." He told himself. "It's just
the house settling." But a house doesn't settle in a
series of steady creaks a small paranoid voice inside
him said. Shivering, Trowa turned back around and
went back to unpacking. He would not listen to the
tiny paranoid voice that echoed the rumors of the
town. He wouldn't. To break up the eerie silence of
the house, Trowa decided that music was in order.
He turned on the radio in the kitchen. It blared an
oldies rock station. Trowa quickly turned it down and
changed the channel. Finding a nice rock station
playing the latest from one of his favorite groups, he
left the kitchen.
"I don't think that I can take another empty moment,
I don't think that I can fake another
Hallow smile
It's not enough just to be sorry
Don't think that I could take
Another talk about it." He sang as the sad melody
carried him back to his work.
"Don't you know I feel the darkness closing in…"
Trowa suddenly stopped. He could hear the radio jump
to the oldies station. The volume increased until it
blared the doo whap song that was currently playing,
throughout the house. "Turn it back!" Trowa snapped.
The volume decreased. "You heard me! Turn it back
this instant!" The station leapt back to the ending
of Trowa's song. "Thank you." He called to the thin
air. It took him a moment to realize what he'd just
done. He'd actually asserted himself against a ghost.
A ghost, that wasn't supposed to exist. Closing the
hutch's glass door, he picked up the empty box and
marched back to the kitchen. Setting the box on the
table he scanned the room. There wasn't any evidence
of mischief and the radio was now playing a more
upbeat song, but it was still on the same station.
"If you want to change the channel, ask me. Don't
just randomly do it. We all have to live here
together and we might as well attempt to get along."
I'm talking to thin air, he repeated over and over.
Yeah, but I really don't care any more. It's
something or someone to talk to even if it doesn't
talk back, Trowa reasoned.
For the rest of the morning Trowa talked to nothing.
He told it about his parent's death, school, and his
friends. Occasionally he would start singing along
with the music on the radio. By lunchtime he actually
was in a fairly good mood. He couldn't remember when
the last time he'd actually been cheerful. Yes,
cheerful was the right term, he decided as he made his
lunch. For some odd reason it didn't bother him that
there apparently was a ghost in the house. It helped
him to identify the phenomenon that turned radio
stations or made the stairs creak. Even if the ghost
wasn't tangible, just knowing there was something
non-threatening about eased his mind. He wasn't
alone.
Trowa finished his lunch and placed the dishes in the
sink. Now that he had most everything unpacked and in
its proper spot, it was time for some serious
cleaning. With mop and bucket in hand, Trowa began
cleaning all the hard wood surfaces in the house. It
was a long grueling day. Everything was covered in
dust and grime. He had to empty his bucket five times
alone for the ground floor. By three fifty, he was
tired and dirty. Deciding it was time for a break, he
dumped the last of the water out, then headed for his
room. Searching out his book, Trowa flopped down on
his bed with the suspense novel. He wanted to finish
it. As he removed the bookmark he noticed that the
bent page had moved from behind his bookmark to ahead
of it.
"Been reading my book haven't you?" asked Trowa. The
temperature in the room dropped as if telling him yes.
"It's okay. I don't mind." He felt a slight breeze
as if someone was walking around the bed. "When I get
to your marker, I'll start reading aloud. Can you be
patient until then?" Again the breeze shifted. Trowa
smiled. "All right then."

* * *

School seemed boring after that weekend. Catherine
had been forced to substitute on Sunday as well, so
Trowa had spent a second day talking to the ghost. He
found he actually liked having his own personal
haunted house. He wasn't sure why, except that it
reminded him of all the invisible friends he'd had
when he was little. Although none of them could make
the temperature in the room drop or change a radio
station. Catherine had looked a bit worried when
she'd come home and Trowa was reading aloud from his
novel.
"How are you holding up in the haunted house?" Wufei
asked at lunch.
"It's not too bad." Trowa told him. "I'm getting
used to it."
"Nothing strange has happened?"
"Plenty." Trowa confessed before he realized what he
was saying. Both Wufei and Quatre leaned forward.
"Really?" Quatre sounded almost excited. "What sort
of things?"
"The radio turning on, my book going missing, the
stairs creaking, and other little stuff like that.
The ghost doesn't seem to want to scare anyone away."
"So you agree there is a ghost there?" Wufei
inquired. Trowa nodded. "Cool. I mean it's cool
that you aren't afraid of it."
"I know!" Quatre interjected. "Let's go do some
research in the library. I bet they have old news
articles about the first family there. There son died
I heard." Shoving all his lunch back into its bag,
Quatre grabbed Trowa's arm and hauled him out of his
seat. Wufei scarfed the last of his sandwich, then
followed quickly. They made a stampede rush towards
the school library and nearly ran into the librarian.
She gave them odd looks, but the boys didn't pay any
attention to her. They crowded the periodicals
searching for anything on the mansion.
"Look, here it is." Quatre whispered excitedly.
Trowa and Wufei squished next to him so they could
read too. The headline on the old newspaper read,
Local Family Dealt Death-Blow. Underneath was the
picture of a picture of Trowa's house. It looked well
kept and orderly, instead of the mess it currently
was.
"It says here that the family had only one child, a
son. He died in his room on October 31."
"He died on Halloween?" Wufei sounded more startled
than he'd meant to. Quatre nodded.
"The coroner ruled it a suicide because a bottle of
pills was found spilled by the bedside. The family
had only been living here for a few months when it
happened. They had moved in when the house had been
finished. Shit, the boy was our age." They
collectively shuddered.
"Creepy." Wufei whispered. "I wonder why he did it."
"I don't know." Trowa replied.
"Is there anyway to ask him?" Trowa shook his head.
"How about a séance?"
"I have no idea how to perform one."
"My sister does." Quatre said. "I could ask her.
She'd be more than happy to help with anything
supernatural. Wufei, are you free this weekend?"
"Yeah."
"Great. Trowa, do you mind if we hold it this
weekend?" Trowa shrugged.
"I don't see why not. I'll ask Catherine."
"Great!" Quatre said excitedly. "My sister will want
a full report no doubt."
"Out of curiosity, which sister are you talking
about?" inquired Wufei.
"The one that has all that new age stuff in her room.
She wears crystals and has a tattoo of a butterfly
dripping blood from its wings on her ankle. Father
was really pleased about that one." Quatre rolled his
eyes as he said it. Wufei just shook his head.
"You have too many sisters."
"Tell me about it. You want one?"
"No thank you. I have enough siblings."
"Are you sure? Your brother for one of my sisters?"
"No deal."
"Please?" Trowa snickered as he listened to his
friends bicker. It was nice.

* * *

"Trowa, I need to talk to you." Catherine called as
she entered the house.
"I'm in the kitchen."
"Good." Catherine strode into the kitchen to find
dinner being put on her plate. "That looks good."
"Thank you."
"Listen, I was talking to some of the people at work
about hiring someone to help clean up around here and
do general maintenance." Trowa nodded. "And this
woman from the juvenile correctional center was in.
She said that a number of her kids are great for that
type of work. I wasn't too keen on having a juvenile
delinquent in the house, but Ms. Po assured me that
they do this sort of thing all the time. So I'm going
to talk to her tomorrow about having one of the kids
that's in there for his first offense come live with
us. It would be only for a month trial period and Ms.
Po lives only two blocks away. If anything happens
she could be here in a flash. What do you think?"
Trowa sat down. For several minutes he didn't speak.
"I don't know." He told her truthfully. "I would
have to meet the person and see his record."
"Oh, of course. This would be an opportunity for the
kid to do something constructive rather than spend the
entire time in Juvie."
"He'd be about my age?"
"Probably." Catherine replied. "This pretty good
Trowa. You're becoming an excellent cook." Trowa
nodded and picked up his fork. His life was suddenly
becoming more complicated.
That night he couldn't sleep. Tossing and turning he
fought the worries that cluttered his mind. Giving
up, Trowa tossed the covers aside.
"I don't know." He whispered to the darkness. "I
don't know if I can handle someone living in this
house besides Catherine and I." The temperature
dropped to a bone chilling low. In the darkness, he
thought he saw a light. It was there for a moment
then streaked towards the door, disappearing through
it. Trowa leapt out of bed and followed it. It had
to be the ghost, he knew it. Stumbling down the hall,
he saw the small orb bounce up the staircase. Blindly
he followed it.
"Wait, I didn't mean you." He hissed hoping not to
wake Catherine. She'd never believe him if he said he
saw a ghost. It was hard to find his way in the dark,
but with one hand firmly gripping the banister, Trowa
ascended. He knew that the dead boy's body had been
found on the third floor and that he'd seen shades in
the windows of the third story. Therefore, that must
be where the ghost was.
There was a faint glow from under door of one room,
so Trowa pushed it open. The room was awash in a pale
ethereal glow that appeared to have no source. He
could see the layers of dust in the room, marking it
as one of the many rooms that never were cleaned. Old
furniture was stacked everywhere. On the bottom of
the heap was a bed still cover with a quilt. Inching
around the tangles of chairs, Trowa looked for the
ghost.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean you. I was talking about
a prospective handyman that my sister wants to hire.
This was your house before we bought it, so as far as
I'm concerned you are always welcome here." The light
intensified for a moment, then dimmed. Trowa found it
difficult to see. Not knowing what to say to the
ghost next, he tried to clear a space for himself on
one corner of the bed. It was the only surface that
looked anywhere suitable for sitting.
"Look, my friends are coming over this weekend. They
want to hold a séance in order to contact you. They
want to know why you died." The light intensified
slightly. "I don't know if you want to talk to us or
not, but…"
"It's hard to talk." A voice whispered. Trowa
shivered involuntarily. "Don't have much energy."
The light vanished, leaving Trowa alone in the dark.
"Can't..hold…on…Tired. Sorry." Trowa felt the
temperature rise in the room. The ghost was gone, but
more importantly, it had spoken.

On to Part 3

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